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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25703362">Widow's Weeds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverwolf51/pseuds/silverwolf51'>silverwolf51</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Blood and Injury, Blue Lions Ferdinand von Aegir, Denial of Feelings, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, Grief/Mourning, How Do I Tag, Hubert and Ferdinand were on opposing sides, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Summaries, Language of Flowers, M/M, Mentioned Black Eagles Students (Fire Emblem), Or is it just grief?, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-War, Sporadic Updates, Supernatural Elements, Symbolism, is this a ghost story?, no beta we die like Glenn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:46:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>972</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25703362</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverwolf51/pseuds/silverwolf51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The flower of the now-extinct House Aegir had been the Adrestian zinnia, a vibrant blossom that represented joyous endurance. Standing beside the grave where the last scion lay buried, the cold stone enrobed in wreaths of heart-red poppies, the irony of it all left a dull ache in Hubert’s chest.</p>
<p>Or, Hubert is haunted by grief (and possibly something more) after being forced to kill Blue Lion Ferdinand during the war.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ferdinand von Aegir &amp; Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Widow's Weeds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi everyone! After reading TONS of Three Houses fics, I finally decided to toss mine into the ring! Hope you all enjoy the sweet, sweet angst below despite possible formatting errors (I can't double-space the text on AO3 for some reason).   Further notes at the end.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>      The flower of the now-extinct House Aegir had been the Adrestian zinnia, a vibrant blossom that represented joyous endurance. Standing beside the grave where the last scion lay buried, the cold stone enrobed in wreaths of heart-red poppies, the irony of it all left a dull ache in Hubert’s chest. Crimson always had suited Ferdinand best. Perhaps that was why seeing him in Faerghus blue instead of Imperial red had left such a bitter taste in the mage’s mouth. Perhaps that was why staining that same uniform with blood had been so satisfying. It had felt like a red reclamation of sorts. That is, up to a point. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Up until there was far too much red and far too little shine in the copper eyes of his ex-compatriot. Until Ferdinand’s battle cries became whispers, his determined smile a grimace, and his body a limp weight no longer animated by the spark of life. Even on the battlefield, the Aegir had always smiled, a strange nervous quirk held over from their academy days. Once Hubert might have sneered at that expression. Now…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>      Now there was no helping things. There was no helping things then, either. Hubert had known from the start that the cavalier would never side with the empire. That once the Flame Emperor’s identity was revealed, Ferdinand would think it the ultimate betrayal and join another house. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>    It still had not hurt any less. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As loathe as he was to say it, the two had grown amicable prior to the incident in the Holy Tomb. Enough times weeding lawns and bashing in the brains of brigands certainly built an odd bridge of trust and mutual respect between the two. Something more had begun construction too, as evidenced by lingering touches and quickly averted gazes, flushed faces and the exchanging of gifts. Then the truth arrived. And whatever foundation that was laid down was demolished.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>      Demolished...He had to sign off on those papers regarding the demolition and reconstruction of that dreadful fountain in the center of Maevian Square. There were also trade agreements to revise, as well as an academic symposium on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>true</span>
  </em>
  <span> theology of Fohdland to arrange (thank you, Lindhardt) and his nightly meeting with Lady Edelgard to prepare for. The Minister of the Imperial Household’s job was never done. He turned around before remembering why he had come in the first place. Sparing a look back at the grave, he gently placed a small ribbon-wrapped nosegay of zinnias and Dagdan thistles atop it and walked swiftly out the cemetery gates. Supposedly the southwestern flower stood for nobility. Perhaps Ferdinand would appreciate the gesture, however small.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>######</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>            The two were seated at their usual table in the monastery gardens, the scent of southern fruit blend intermingling with the rich aroma of coffee. Ferdinand hummed some snippet of the latest Mittelfrank opera to himself as he lifted his cup to his lips. “You certainly are cheery today,” Hubert remarked dryly, noting the effervescent energy surrounding his classmate. “Perhaps one of your horses has finally kicked some sense into you. Or is that perhaps too much to ask?”    </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>          Ferdinand snorted, placing his cup down with a delicate hand. “Very droll, Hubert. I would wager the fair citizens of Enbarr can hear me laughing from the city gates. No, no equine accidents have befallen me.” A soft smile played at his lips. "That "mystery bud" you gifted me from Bernadetta's patch of the greenhouse? It bloomed today into a fine Dagdan thistle." </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>          Hubert quirked one eyebrow. Truly, he had not known what the little sprout would grow into. Botany was not a subject he was familiar with, unless the plants in question had certain...alternative properties. Only recently had he begun to look into the language of the flowers, and only for purposes of espionage. That, and because Ferdinand seemed thoroughly enamoured with the sentimental subject.“Well, isn’t that fortuitous? A flower symbolizing nobility blooming for the so-called “noblest of nobles.” That certainly bodes well.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>      A flicker of some unknown emotion sparked within Ferdinand’s eyes though his smile persisted. “Of that, I am unsure.” At this he leaned in conspiratorially, a teasing grin spreading itself upon his face. “Dagdan thistles also serve as a warning. Do you mean to alert me to some oncoming darkness, Marquis Von Vestra?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>          The sound of a teacup shattering distantly registered in Hubert’s ears. Everything froze. Then a hacking, breathless cackle cut through the air as the scene suddenly shifted, the tea gardens warping and changing. Flowers were replaced with blazing fires. Tea leaves turned to torches, spears, and axes.  The booming of spells replaced the clinking of fine china. Hubert whirled around, the cloak of his battle vestments whipping in the wind behind him. Ferdinand, blue uniformed and bloody, lay at his feet. The Aegir’s frame was wracked with a perverse combination of pain and mirth, wheezing with agonized laughter. Hubert felt himself fall to his knees as another hideous and gurgling peal left the sunset-haired man’s bleeding mouth. Staring up at Hubert, Ferdinand bared his scarlet-streaked teeth and weakly grasped his opponent’s hand.  His eyes were fading embers.“I suppose I  know the answer to my question now, don’t I Vestra?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>       Breathless and drenched in cold sweat, the Minister of The Imperial Household shot up from his bed. Upon realizing where he was, he willed his body to relax and sank back into the silken sheets. The nightmares were getting worse. In the morning he would have to ask Dorothea if she had a spare flask of sleeping draught. Turning over, he made to lay his head down on the pillow and close his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he found he could not. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because sitting there on the cushion beside him was a thistle tucked inside a scrap of tattered ribbon, its purple petals glistening with evening dew. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Flower symbolism is fascinating! Its also annoying as hell at times LOL. I tried to be as accurate as possible, but I'm no expert. Anyway, I have a few ideas on how to continue this but I'm not entirely sure. Hopefully I'll pump out another chapter. Regardless, I'd love to hear your comments and feedback. Night everyone!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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